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When she becomes interested in the old Indian campaigner, Miles, she is able to procure his admission to Chelsea through the influence of "my brother, Colonel Dutton." She lightens her watches by reading Manzoni's novel, I Promessi Sposi, she quotes Lord Bacon, and compares the hospital-nurses to the witches in Macbeth.
And he was right; in military matters it is the man that produces the real effect, as to appearance, upon the long run; and the practised eye of the old campaigner would prefer a Waterloo man in a smock-frock to any flunkey you could pick out, even though he were dressed up as fine as Lady L 's favourite chasseur.
"A widow a poor, lonely, insulted widow!" cries the Campaigner, with trembling hands taking possession of the notes. "And I wish to know," I continued, "when my friend's house will be free to him, and he can return in peace." Here Rosa's voice was heard from the inner apartment, screaming, "Mamma, mamma!" "I go to my child, sir," she said.
Clive Newcome the Academician succeeded in painting, of course for mere friendship's sake, and because he liked the subject, though he could not refuse the cheque which Colonel Newcome sent him for the frame and picture; but no cajoleries could induce the old campaigner to sit to any artist save one.
They are nearly to the large canopied bed between the open windows, when Jones, who is nearest, discovers a startled apparition half rising from the bed. He is discovered by the figure at the same instant, and a piercing scream, so loud, prolonged, and ear-splitting that it echoes over the house, ends the wild dream of the marauders. Wesley reels in panic. But Jones is an old campaigner.
Whimpers from Rosey cries of "Mamma, mamma, compose yourself," convulsive sobs clenched knuckles flashing eyes embraces rapidly clutched laughs stamps snorts from the dishevelled Campaigner; grinding teeth livid fury and repeated breakages of the third commandment by Clive I can fancy the whole scene. He returned to London without his wife, and when she came she brought Mrs. Mackenzie with her.
Often and often has old I mean has that fine woman, Miss Mapp, told me that I work too hard at night! Recommended me to get earlier to bed, and do my work between six and eight in the morning! Six and eight in the morning! That's a queer time of day to recommend an old campaigner to be awake at!
Her information was that he had been no use as a campaigner. Why on earth did he keep her waiting? "I suppose you have heard some of the talk going about?" he said at last, shooting out the words. "What talk?" "They're very anxious about Monk Lawrence after your speech. And there are absurd stories. Women have been seen at night and so on." Gertrude laughed. "The more panic the better for us."
Any old campaigner may be a tolerable barber, and I was a pretty good one. I trimmed the late prisoner into decency, and with my own hands carried up a pail of water, a piece of soap, and towels. I had taken good stock of him, and carried his bodily measurements in my mind when I went out again to an outfitter's, taking Hinge with me to translate.
Billy the Mule stumped off with the swaggering limp of an old campaigner, as the troop-horse's head came nuzzling into my breast, and I gave him biscuits, while Vixen, who is a most conceited little dog, told him fibs about the scores of horses that she and I kept. "I'm coming to the parade to-morrow in my dog-cart," she said. "Where will you be?" "On the left hand of the second squadron.
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